


Smoke and Mirrors

by lamardeuse



Series: Getting To Know You [18]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series to accompany Season Two of SGA. Part Eighteen: Inferno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: rating refers to overall series rating. Individual parts may carry a lower rating.

Later, Rodney honestly wasn’t sure which one of them started it.  He’d thought it was Sheppard who made the first move, a lazy sweep of that predator’s gaze down Narina’s admittedly well-formed body, but perhaps he’d been wrong.  Maybe he’d also hallucinated the extra measure of warmth he’d heard in John’s tone when he addressed her, or the sincerity of the smile he’d turned on her when she first introduced herself.  Of course, that show of interest – or the perception thereof – had prompted Rodney to retaliate, and soon the situation had escalated into an arms race of epic proportions.  Within an hour, they were taking turns flirting with Narina, and within two they were tripping over one another’s attempts, and Rodney felt –

Well.  He felt much the same way he’d felt for most of his adult life:  like he was trying too damned hard for too damned little, and wondering how the hell he’d ended up in this same pit all over again, when the same behavior in grad school had usually earned him a pitcher of beer dumped over his head.  And not even good beer, but _Coors_, and – well, all right, so that wasn’t the point, but it was still indicative of his track record in pissing contests.

Luckily, Narina had no pitchers close to hand, and even if she had she wouldn’t use them, because besides having class, Narina also seemed to regard Rodney as a fascinating specimen who was not precisely fuckable in any sense of the word.  Within five hours, it was pretty clear that James Tiberius Sheppard had struck again, claiming yet another helpless victim.  There was just no way that the guy whose job it was to pull a world-saving scientific rabbit out of his ass every week was going to be able to compete with that winning smile and that pec-hugging black t-shirt. 

And then there had been a lot of panicking and running and jury-rigging of an entire Ancient ship, which hey, no problem, just a typical day in the psychotic merry-go-round that was his life now.  He’d been chugging along fine on adrenaline and sheer momentum when his tenuous connection to Sheppard had crackled out of existence, and then it had been a little like that moment when Yosemite Sam has finally come to a stop, that moment of realization when he understands there’s nothing under his feet but empty air, right before he plummets to earth screaming.

The thought that Sheppard was his solid ground had him digging frantically for the handheld radio, because this wasn’t, it couldn’t be the way it ended.  John had survived the Wraith and the Genii and Rodney’s own stupidity; there was no way he could simply die crushed under tons of molten rock.  It was ludicrous to the point of obscenity.  Even more ludicrous, they’d been spending the past six hours in a meaningless cockfight over a woman neither of them wanted, and that was –

He returned to awareness when Narina’s cool fingers covered his own, gently prying the radio from his clawlike grip.  Looking up, he met her understanding gaze and felt a hysterical giggle try to escape his throat, because she hadn’t been fooled at all, she knew exactly what was going on, even if Rodney didn’t, he didn’t have a clue, he’d been fucking John for eight months and in love with him for about seven and a half and he _still _didn’t know. 

_She’s smarter than you_, Rodney thought, tamping the laughter down just in time.

“Rodney,” she said softly, “I will try to reach Colonel Sheppard while you continue to work.”

“Yes,” Rodney replied after a moment, though it was superfluous because his fingers had already released the radio.  “Good idea.”

She’d never know how grateful he was for reminding him of the task at hand.  He fell back into the necessary, desperate rhythm of work, feet churning so quickly through thin air that when John miraculously reappeared before him, he barely registered the return of a hard surface under his boots.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
He lay in his bed for an hour before John showed up, his restlessness due partly to anticipation of John’s visit and partly to the engine schematics of the _Orion _dancing behind his eyelids every time he tried to sleep.

If he’d bothered to think about it, he might have guessed John would look either sheepish or pissed off, but he had his typical mask firmly in place, the slight smirk and the sleepy eyes, and Rodney wished in that moment that he could wrestle Sheppard to the floor and pin him there until that damned mask cracked wide open.

Something of Rodney’s annoyance must have shown on his own face (he had no masks, never had), because Sheppard’s eyes narrowed as he sat on the edge of the bed.  “What?”

Rodney flung his forearm over his eyes.  “Nothing.  Just exhausted.”

“Oh,” John said, and was that disappointment?  The bed shifted, though Sheppard’s ass was still touching Rodney’s thigh.  “Okay, well –”

“Why did we do that?” Rodney blurted.  He was a little horrified at himself once the words were out – that was a clear violation of the masculine code, where you didn’t talk about the things that really pissed you off, at least not directly.  Someone was going to show up in the morning – Charlton Heston, maybe, or the ghost of Steve McQueen – and take his membership card away.

To his immense relief, John didn’t pretend not to know what Rodney was talking about.  He raised his arm in time to catch John shrugging.  “Because men really _are _pigs?” he offered.

Rodney swallowed, his heart leaping, because hey, if he was giving up his membership anyway, he might as well go all the way.  “You know, we never talked about – well, I know that some men, even men in relationships, they, um – ”

John’s eyebrows climbed and Rodney sighed and shook his head.  “Oh, forget it.”  He covered his eyes again; where was a falling piano or a sixteen-ton weight when you needed one?

For a few seconds all Rodney could hear were the respective sounds of their breathing, and then he was startled by the feeling of John’s fingers stroking tenderly along his jaw.  He kept his eyes covered, because he suspected that John wouldn’t be doing this if he was being observed, and he wanted John’s hands on him any way he could get them.

“You trying to tell me you miss women?” John asked, his voice fighting hard to remain steady and failing miserably.  “Because if that’s what you want, I – ”

And Rodney had to stop him there, he had to, because he didn’t know much but suddenly he knew he couldn’t bear to have John be magnanimous about this, and he would be, John would chew off his left leg before he’d admit to being anything but _cool_, and Rodney couldn’t stand that.  Not with the Wraith a handful of days away, and possible-to-probable messy death following on the heels of that; he’d already had a taste of that sharp, awful regret, and he didn’t want one moment of his time with John to be tainted by their fears and insecurities. 

“No,” he said, cutting John off, sitting up quickly, body brushing against John’s at six different points, because a voice in his head was screaming closer and closer and _closer_, “I don’t miss women.  I don’t want them.  And if you miss them or want them, then for God’s sake don’t tell me about it.  I don’t want to hear you slept with Narina or that airhead on the Shakespeare planet or – ”

“Whoa, whoa,” John was saying, “what are you – ”

“– in short, I don’t want to hear about it,” Rodney finished, deflating rapidly. 

John stared at him for a few breathless seconds.  “Are you – you’re nuts, you know that?”

“Thank you,” Rodney bit out.

“No, look, I mean, we’re both, it’s – Christ, I’m so _stupid_, how do you put up with – ”  John stopped talking at that point because Rodney, having heard enough, was kissing him hungrily, pushing against John as John groaned and pushed back.  And maybe he was  nuts, because that last disjointed sentence had made perfect sense to him. 

As his hungry hands slipped under John’s pec-hugging black shirt, Rodney’s head was singing _mine, mine, mine_. 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
“I think that was the best sex we’ve ever had,” John said, still panting a little.

“I know – that was the – best sex I’ve – ever had,” Rodney managed, puffing so hard he could have blown down a house of straw.

“Yeah, well,” John drawled, rolling on his side to face Rodney, “that’s kinda what I meant.”

“Oh, Christ,” Rodney sighed, passing a hand over his eyes, “they’re taking both our membership cards away.”

John pressed his nose into Rodney’s neck.  “Hm?”

“No – nothing,” Rodney murmured, because John had just licked a path of fire up his jugular, and really, there was nothing more they needed to talk about, not when there were things they could be _doing _instead.

Rodney didn’t know who’d started it, and he didn’t know who would finish it, but for once in his life he was perfectly comfortable in his ignorance.

**Author's Note:**

> First published March 2006.


End file.
